Reform Me
by midatlantic
Summary: AU. Blaine and Kurt meet in a therapeutic boarding school for troubled teens.  Together through their growing friendship they help each other figure out what is important in this world and how to leave their pasts behind.
1. Chapter 1

_AN:_ So I have become quite taken with the idea of Badboy!Blaine and Badboy!Kurt. There is a lot of this going around LJ and Tumblr at the moment. Anyway as it feeds in to my knowledge and experience, I thought it would be fun to write a story from the other side of the fence as it were. I hope this works.__

__For the premise of this, we are going to assume that Kurt does not have Burt as his father. I like Burt too much to corrupt him as a character. He may appear in this in another form but I think we can assume that neither Kurt nor Blaine's home life is an ideal Disneyland home.__

_This will probably get intense and dark when exploring the boys' struggles and backgrounds - if you have read Second Chance then this will come as no surprise._

_Warnings: minor self harm this chapter._

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><p>Blaine looked around him in fear. He could not believe that he had allowed this situation to get this far. What a fucking idiot. He had believed the stories his mother had told him that this would only be a few months. He had listened to her beg and plead with him and in the end he could not stand to see the disappointment in her face one more minute. He had agreed to accept that bastard's request.<p>

A few hours ago they had arrived at this place. He had not bothered to listen to the name. It was irrelevant. He would not be staying. The building had looked unassuming on the outside. The doors and windows were painted bright colours and there was even a mural on the wall. Everything was made to look to an outsider like this was a school, not a prison. But Blaine was beginning to know better. He had only been through the front door a short time and already the reality of the situation was setting in.

Two hours ago his mother and that bastard sat on a nice plush couch in the Director's office. Blaine chose a hard backed chair as close to the door as possible. On the floor was his duffel bag and guitar. The Director was sweet talking his mother with promises of how good this experience would be for Blaine. The bastard was holding her hand and reassuring her stressed questions while hanging on the Director's every word. Hate seethed through Blaine white hot. He thought it would be a miracle if he got out of this room without punching the bastard.

Blaine had allowed himself a tiny smirk at the image. He had wondered idly if the school would refuse him on the spot if he knocked out his own father during the admissions interview. He was almost tempted to try it but he had other plans that he was concerned about disrupting if he got himself in too much trouble straight away. No. He had decided it would be best to lay low and figure out his options for the moment. Instead, he had refused to look at anyone in the room. He spent the minutes eyeing the door and the hallway beyond for possible escape routes. Words like therapy, group and therapeutic activities swarmed over his head. Concepts like milieu, structure, routine, earning points were bandied around as though they were medicine and a cure. A cure for what? There was nothing wrong with him.

Blaine had reached in to his jacket pocket and reassured himself that his cigarettes and phone were still in his pocket. If nothing else, at least he had those. He had already planned an escape route with Wes should the situation be as bad as he feared. He thought that he would stick around for 24 hours tops and then bolt. Let the bastard set the police on him at that point, he would take the Greyhound to New York if he had to. He was not scared to be on his own.

Then disaster had struck. The Director started going through the rules. Blaine may have been pissed off but he was not an idiot. He listened to every word that was said to ensure that they were not going to pull anything over on him. At first the rules were straightforward. Curfews, privileges, boundaries, respecting others, attending school blah, blah, blah, but then… no cell phones… no smoking…bag searches… pocket searches. NO NO NO. This was too much. He had rights. He was not going to allow people he did not know and did not care about to touch his stuff, to touch him, to take away the lifelines that he was holding on to. NO!

He had stood up at that point and started yelling. NO. He had yelled at the Director. He had yelled at his mother and finally he had squared off in front of the bastard and got right in his face. Then he had screamed. He had raised his fist in anger at the bastard. He wanted to wipe the self satisfied smirk from the man's face. This was not happening. He could not do this to him.

Dimly Blaine had been aware that the Director was behind him talking to someone. He heard his mother begging for him to calm down and be reasonable. He fixed his eyes and buried his glare deep in to the bastard's face. It would be worth it. It would. He raised his hand one more time and made to swing at his father but then he was grabbed off his feet and thrown on to the ground in what could only be described as a football tackle. Before he knew what was happening he found himself flipped on to his stomach and his arms and legs were pinned to his sides. He tried to struggle. He was burning with anger and he fought his attackers really hard but he could not get any purchase on the floor. He was not getting anywhere in fact.

This could not be happening. He called out to his mother and begged for her to help him but the bastard held her tight to him and walked her out of the room. He could not see the men holding him but he could hear that at least one was the Director. The other felt like a mountain. He had a hold of Blaine's hands and lower body and was the chief reason why Blaine was not getting anywhere. He could not move an inch.

Blaine decided to keep struggling on principle. He knew now that he was not going to win this immediate battle but calming and quietening down just felt too humiliating at that moment. So he struggled on for as long as he could before his muscles screamed for him to stop and the feeling of sweat running down his forehead and in to his eyes became too gross to stomach. Then he lay there, and slowly felt the hands on him release. He hated to be touched. No one was allowed this close to him without permission. They would pay. He would make sure that they all paid.

After a while he was allowed on to his feet and he realised that his duffel bag and guitar were gone. He did not want to ask where they were but someone must have seen him looking around. He was told that they had been taken upstairs to the dorm already. He did not say a word although he was burning to ask if they had been searched or tampered with.

He assumed that he would be heading up to the dorms too. Instead he was led in to a room with a large TV. He looked around questioningly. A large hulk of a man, African American, with two missing front teeth, sat down heavily on a chair in the room. This was clearly the other man who had been holding him. The guy was a solid wall of beefed up muscle. Blaine suddenly felt very small.

"Son, you need to hand over your cigarettes, lighter and cell phone before you can join the others."

Blaine just stared at him. Oh hell no. This again? Had they not just won this battle? Had he not been beaten enough already? Could they not have just taken the things out of his pocket while he was on the floor? They actually thought he was going to help them to strip away his freedom.

He sat down heavily on an admittedly very comfortable couch and eyed the man suspiciously. He tried to calculate if he would have enough time to get to the door before the man caught him. No chance.

He decided to resist passively instead. When he gave no response, the man seemed to accept this. He took a walkie out of his pocket and radioed to someone outside of the room.

"Could we get dinner and some juice brought to the living room please?"

Blaine looked at the man in surprise. He decided that he was not going to assume that he was about to be fed. He would not put it past the torture of these people to eat in front of him when he was now admittedly very hungry. He turned away from the man in the chair and stared resolutely at the wall.

The man sighed and got up. The heckles on Blaine's neck rose but the man walked straight past him and grabbed the TV remote.

"You like football? The game's on."

Blaine fought down the urge to respond to the reasonable question politely. He was angry goddamnit and going through hell. He was not going to break his silence just to be polite. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and curled them tightly around the cigarettes and cell phone. The game came on. He had forgotten that it was Saturday night and therefore Buckeyes time. He looked at the score quickly and then turned away. He felt like a petulant toddler now. He was sulking and resisting because he was being stubborn, not because it was getting him anywhere. But this did not matter. He was not giving anything else up just yet.

Ten minutes later dinner arrived. A woman brought two trays in with a casserole of some kind and chocolate pudding. She handed Blaine one of the trays and looked at him with interest.

"Hi Blaine, I am Sherry, one of your counselors. It's good to meet you."

Again Blaine fought his natural urge to respond politely and maybe even be a bit charming. He did however grunt a thank you for the dinner.

Sherry walked over to the man in the chair. "Derek, Mike wanted to know if you needed anything."

"No babes. Thanks. We'll be up when Blaine is ready."

Blaine did not know why this comment made him seethe inside. There was something so completely unfair about being treated like a little kid when he was 16 and protesting his rights. He was tempted to throw his dinner across the room to make his point, but then decided that he would then look seriously like a three year old. And the food smelt good. So he ate instead.

The game reached half time and Derek tried again. "You know son, it is getting late. Why don't you give me those things and then I can show you your bed and introduce you to the dorm."

Blaine considered ignoring him again but really this was getting old and he knew that he could be charming, eloquent and persuasive when he needed to be.

"Derek, why do I have to give up my phone? It means everything to me. All my friends are worried about me. My Mum will be stressed if I don't call her frequently to let her know that I am OK. Couldn't I just keep it?"

"Look Blaine, I don't know that much about you yet but you seem like a good kid with one hell of a temper. That's OK, you know? We can work on that. But clearly you are also here because you made some poor decisions along the way." Blaine tried to protest this but Derek put one hand up and bowled over him. "No man, let me finish. You may not see them as poor decisions but clearly for your parents who love you, to put you here, there has to be a reason. Now if you keep your cell phone, we can't help you make better decisions as you will be contacting your friends and looking for ways out instead."

"No I won't…"

"Blaine, don't think I have not been playing this game for a while. I'm sure you already have your escape plan ready, right?"

Blaine looked at the floor and did not bother to deny this. He guessed most kids probably did when they showed up.

"Now we can't help you stay safe if you are going to be talking to every Tom, Dick and Harry with a stupid plan in the greater Ohio area. You must see that makes sense."

"But my Mom…" Blaine trailed off as he was shocked by the lump in his throat that formed and the tears that came to his eyes. He never got emotional. He could not remember the last time he had cried but he had not felt this vulnerable in a very long time and he felt so out of his depth.

"Son, you will be able to call your Mum from our phones here often. You can talk with your counselor and therapist about how often but I promise it will be a minimum of once a week."

Once a week felt like a very infrequent stretch of time. Blaine brushed angrily at his eyes and tried to clamp down on his emotions. He was tired and he just wanted to be left alone to acclimatize. Actually what he really wanted right now was to smoke a cigarette.

He wanted to hold on to his phone for longer but a thought occurred to him. "Do you have my charger?"

"Me?" Derek asked. "No. I'm sure that got sent home with your folks."

"They've gone?"

"Yeah. About an hour ago I think."

Blaine felt so alone. His mother had abandoned him. After seeing him on the floor pinned down by two men, she left him here on his own. And she took his charger… his lifeline to the outside world… his support.

Blaine wanted to howl his sadness but instead he saw red. He stood up and advanced on Derek as menacingly as he could, puffing out his full 5'8'' and letting his eyes flame.

"Fuck you. Fuck this school. I will not stay here where I am not respected and you can not make me. I am going to go outside and smoke my cigarettes and then I am going to call my mother and get her to come and take me home."

Derek stood up to his full size of 6'6'' and looked vaguely amused at Blaine's posturing. He showed no reaction to the cursing but spoke in a level calm voice.

"Outside this door is a courtyard. Go smoke the rest of your cigarettes and then you will hand over your lighter and your phone and I will take you upstairs to bed. You can discuss going home with your parents and the Director tomorrow."

That was not the response that Blaine had been expecting at all but he took his concession and went out in to the courtyard. He had forgotten that it was pitch black outside and the freezing chill of November. He tried the door of the living room but the door was locked behind him. He saw Derek watching him amusedly through the window and felt pure anger burn in him.

He looked around at the enclosed space and saw a few other doors off the courtyard. He lit a cigarette and turned to show it to Derek pointedly, drawing the smoke in to his lungs. It felt blissful even in the cold and dark. Then he nonchalantly walked around the Courtyard trying the other doors. He was hoping to provoke Derek to come out after him as he was now itching for a fight, even one that he would lose dramatically. He wanted the adrenaline release.

But Derek did not move and it was clear that all the doors in the courtyard were locked. He was trapped. In the cold and the dark with only his five cigarettes and his lighter for company. He began to panic as his brain began to whirl. These people really knew what they were doing. They were acting as though he was a kid and they seemed amused that he thought that he could beat them.

He looked around the coutyard as he puffed his second cigarette down. There was an ornamental fountain in the middle of the courtyard and he was tempted by the idea of defacing that. He thought at least he would get a reaction but somehow he knew that he would likely be arrested and then his fading hope of escaping this weekend would be well and truly destroyed. There was no way he would get out of a police holding cell.

Instead he started his third cigarette and hugged his jacket tighter to him. He knew that he would feel sick after five cigarettes but this was a principle again. He was not going to let Derek and his cronies have the satisfaction of taking any of his cigarettes off of him. He took the stubs of the finished cigarettes and walked over to the fountain sticking them in to ears and eyes of the stone statue at the centre. He looked over but Derek continued to watch him stoically from the window.

He lit the fourth cigarette feeling the winter cold nip at his fingers and his nose. He knew that he was losing this round. He knew that he was now just putting off the inevitable. He knew that before the night was out, he would be in the dorm, cellphoneless, facing the prospect of a long time in this fucking dump. He would never admit it but the thought terrified him. He did not understand this place. He did not know what the other kids would be like. He did not know what the staff would be like.

He hated being stuck in this courtyard, halfway between the real world and the insanity that he now found himself in. Trapped. Thoughts and ideas began to swirl in his head and fear began to grip his heart. He would not cry again. He would not. After he finished the last cigarette, he walked up to a brick wall and punched his hand in to it hard, letting out a loud howl of pure rage. He had never felt so alone and vulnerable.

He cradled his hurt hand to his stomach as finally Derek came out to him. The fight had left Blaine and he handed over his cell phone and lighter. They were useless to him now anyway. Without a charger or cigarettes they would not get him anywhere.

He fought down the tears of anger and instead focussed intensely on the pain in his hand as Derek ushered him back in to the warmth of the buildings and took him to see the nurse.

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><p><em>Please review<em> : )


	2. Chapter 2

Rumours were spreading like wildfire through Reddings School. Kurt Hummel eyed the empty room in the dorm in distaste. They had just got rid of one nightmare kid, Stuart, who was such a little thug that the staff themselves had thrown a party to celebrate his leaving. Not that Kurt was supposed to know that, but he had his ways.

Stuart had attempted to control the dorm in the most brutish way and Kurt had resented it. He had basically decided each week what activities he wanted to do after school and on the weekends and then he had told the other boys in the dorm which way to vote and what to say to the counselors. If they crossed him, as Kurt had done once or twice, they could expect a fist in the guts for their troubles. Consequences seemed meaningless to Stuart and restriction to the dorm achieved nothing but meant that all the boys had to suffer with his presence every hour of the God given day. Finally Stuart had lost his cool and assaulted the lead counselor with a metal water jug. He was arrested and shipped off elsewhere and the past few days without him had been a blessed relief.

This morning however, the boys had been told that a new kid was coming in. As was the ritual with a new recruit, all activities that evening were cancelled and the boys had to have dinner in the dorm to welcome the new kid and "bond". God, Kurt hated that word. It was so nauseatingly "therapeutic", another one of his pet peeves.

So in the dorm, he had been stuck with the other three boys waiting for the appearance of the new kid. Only he didn't show. The counselors kept being called out of the dorm to discuss the situation and every time they would leave, Kurt would innocently find something to do near the door to effectively eavesdrop. The staff trusted him too much for their own good. He feigned nonchalance and disinterest, and they unwittingly gave him all the information he needed to know everything that was happening in the school.

In a place like this, gossip was knowledge, and knowledge was power. It was useful to know which staff members were dating who, what kids were in trouble and what the trouble was worth, who was being watched closely and who was being ignored. This was all powerful weapons in the game of mass manipulation that had helped Kurt survive the last six months.

Now Kurt knew that the new kid was a spitfire. He was going to make Stuart seem like a tame puppy. He had tried to assault his father in the admissions interview, had been restrained for half an hour by Derek and the Director and now was holed up in the living room refusing to hand over his cigarettes and cell phone. Other kids might view that resistance as impressive. Kurt viewed it with disdain. It was a futile fight and therefore a nonsense but it suggested that the kid was not only aggressive, with a short temper fuse, but he was also insanely stubborn.

Kurt groaned to himself in frustration. Just what this place needed, another idiot kid who viewed himself as a top dog and king pin. He knew just how awful it was to live with kids like that. These were the ones where you just counted down the days before they got kicked out. Maybe Kurt could help speed the process along for this kid, like he had with Stuart. Maybe he could plant some ideas in the kid's head and watch him seal his own demise. It had been almost fun before, maybe it would be again.

God, he hated the kid already and they had not even met.

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><p>Kurt considered himself top dog in the dorm. He knew the staff would never have given him that title but really while Stuart had held the superficial power, Kurt was in control of the important pieces of the dorm dynamic. The staff did not need to know that. The other boys however did not question it.<p>

Kurt maintained his supremacy from his room in the corner of the dorm nearest the door and bathroom. This way he saw everyone who came in and out of the communal area. He always mentally logged them and he could name every staff member and student who had set foot in the dorm within the full six months that he had been there. He was a keen observer of people and although he did not like many of them, he always made sure to temper his biting wit to acceptable limits so that others did not turn on him. The other boys looked up to him in some way to solve their problems. Not that Kurt encouraged this. The angst of others was usually deeply dull but he did not shut it down when offered as new information could always be useful.

There was Mikey, a cute mouse of a kid in the opposite corner room, who was in the school for a video game addiction. He was one of those fourteen year olds who must have been questioned when he walked in to High School on the first day as he still looked ten. He never held eye contact with anyone for very long and seemed perpetually lost without his computer in his hand. As a result of his addiction his home visits were tightly monitored and he was at the school most weekends. Kurt had questioned to himself whether Mikey's placement at the school was maybe a bit extreme until he heard through the grapevine that Mikey had once threatened his mother with a kitchen knife when she had disrupted a 24 hour Warhammer marathon. So yeah, the kid had the capacity to become a bit unhinged.

Taylor, on the other hand, was a noisy, hyper, fifteen year old wannabe jock. Kurt knew he would probably be going home soon as according to everyone "he is doing so well". Not that Kurt wished any harm on the kid. He was completely harmless if a bit peppy and bright for Kurt's taste. Although, after reading his files, (agency workers could be completely careless about leaving personal information lying around), he knew that Taylor used to self harm a lot and had spent months permanently on suicide alert. Therefore, Kurt guessed, he should be happy for the kid that things seemed so much better. Although a part of him resented that the school felt they were getting any success stories out of the kids. And maybe, deep down, if he was honest, he was a little jealous that Taylor was getting well and had somewhere good to go home to. Not that he thought about it much…really.

Finally there was Jake who was seventeen. Kurt had a real soft spot for Jake. He had some serious issues but Kurt could respect that. When Jake said no, there was no persuading him otherwise. He was a good looking kid with a paranoia fix that would not quit and when he shut down he was literally immovable out of his bed for days, even weeks at a time. Kurt had witnessed him once maintaining a voluntary silent protest for a period of 11 days just because his therapist had made it mandatory that he attend all group outings. There was no doubt who won that battle. After 11 days his room smelt so bad that the other boys were threatening not to enter the dorm communal area at all. He only started eating after day 4 when his therapist personally stayed until late in the evening and coaxed him in to eating a PB&J sandwich as an apology. The fact that he kept the pressure up for another seven days was something that Kurt admired immensely.

So that was the dorm and Kurt liked it as it was. It was predictable and safe. There were no troublemakers who were going to push his buttons and mess with his stuff. He had unwritten rules for how things would go and by and large he had the staff implicitly trained to the way that he wanted things to work. He was satisfied to have successfully got rid of Stuart but now he would have to start again. He showed no sign of his anger to anyone. It was far more effective if no one knew. Hovering below the radar was always the name of the game… always.

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><p>The dorm was moving towards lights out and there was still no sign of the new recruit. The other boys had been happy enough to share out his dinner and dessert between them. The counselors kept feigning calm and reassurance, denying the rumours and simply stating that this Blaine was just "having a hard time adjusting." Like Hell.<p>

Kurt went in to his room and picked up his literature book for class the next day. He idly flicked through it. He wanted to know what idiot thought that teaching kids in a reform school the concepts behind "Lord of the Flies" was a good idea. Seriously you might as well hand out a manual on how to control group dynamics and succeed in mass manipulation. It was an absolute joke. Not that Kurt needed any of the ideas. He had been controlling people around him effectively for years.

He was just getting to the part of Piggy's death, always a highlight, when Kurt heard Derek's voice in to the main room. The lights were not down yet which meant that Kurt could legitimately go "brush his teeth" for the second time tonight and check out what was coming through the door.

He walked unobtrusively in to the communal area of the dorm with his toothbrush in hand, just as the kid, Blaine, walked in to the room. They eyed each other over warily for a second before Derek put his hand on Blaine's shoulder and steered him past Kurt in to the empty room in the back. Kurt caught Sherry's eye. She looked anxious but cast a supposedly reassuring smile Kurt's way. She signalled for him to hurry up with his teeth and looked pointedly at the clock.

Kurt moved on in to the bathroom and started running the water. Just as he had hoped, Sherry and Derek started talking quietly just outside the bathroom door. He could only catch snatches but he got the drift.

"… smoked all five in the freezing cold…left the stubs in the statue… clean up tomorrow… sad and angry… ashamed of the tears… strapped hand, not broken but keep an eye on it… no PE for a week… good kid…"

Kurt rolled his eyes to himself. Derek always believed that they were all good kids. He said something similar about Stuart at first too, and let's not forget Dave. No Kurt would never forget Dave. Both of those boys were labelled "good" by Derek at first. Just like Derek thought Kurt was "good" too. Little did he know the shit that Kurt had on everyone in this place and the ways that he was able use it to his advantage when he chose to.

They moved away from the door and Kurt decided to stop messing around with the toothbrush. As he walked out of the bathroom, the kid stood outside waiting to go in.

"Sorry," Blaine murmured quietly. "I didn't know if anyone was in there."

"No problem." Kurt responded. He looked at him with more interest now that Derek was not standing over him. Blaine was definitely better looking than he had imagined, although his posture right now was doing him no favors at all. Kurt saw that one hand was recently bandaged but he did not linger on the injury as Blaine had a defiant, hostile look in his eye. Best let sleeping dogs lie for now. There was no need to initiate any real contact tonight.

Kurt returned to his room and decided to sleep on the information that he had gained. No further action was called for tonight but he had some planning to do.

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><p>Please review and let me know what you think. I'm still in early stages in the planning of this and so would be interested in questions or ideas you all might have. Thanks, : )<p> 


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